


Thicker Than Water

by sextonviolets (fairbreeze)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Adjacent AU, Deal with a Devil, Demons, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise, M/M, implied cults, more tags with new chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbreeze/pseuds/sextonviolets
Summary: There had always been whispers that Viktor had sold his soul to skate like he did.  Viktor has planned his entire life around the price he'll one day pay for his fame, has lived his life to deliberately keep himself distant from the rest of humanity.Yuuri ruins everything.(He also fixes it.)





	Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: Although the only actual sex in this work involves explicit consent, this work contains a number of different types of consent issues-- namely the discussion of a character's inability to consent as an ongoing plot point and several violations of bodily autonomy. Please proceed with caution.
> 
> Less serious - there are going to be several additional pretty intense tags and warnings moving further into the fic. I am not adding them at the beginning because they completely give away what direction this fic is going.  
> \---
> 
> So, my friends and I were joking around and came up with this totally ridiculous idea for a YOI Cult!AU where everyone was still all figure skaters but also suddenly in various ridiculous Hollywood trope style cults. It centered around Viktor trying to get Yuuri to sleep with him so he wouldn't be able to be used as a virgin sacrifice anymore. I was going to write a short, stupid little thing about this and likely not even post it. 
> 
> And then the original exchange (which is now in a chapter I haven't even finished yet) got serious instead of stupid.
> 
> And then 10k words and counting of fic happened. 
> 
> And now here we are.

There had always been whispers that Viktor had sold his soul to skate like he did. 

In less superstitious countries it was said tongue in cheek, sometimes even outright asked in interviews, always said laughingly, with tacit acknowledgement that of course it was a silly question, a joke. Viktor always laughed right along with them when they said it, waved it off with a "no no, my soul is still very much my own" or a "you could see me skate like that and think I'm soulless?" or something witty, winking.

In more superstitious countries they never ask him to his face. It's always whispers in hallways that he pretends not to hear, a murmur as he leaves places, a belief that being so beautiful and talented is not something to be envied but _feared_. He laughs those people off too, but quietly, differently, goes out of his way to be overly kind and charming, even though he knows it's unsettling.

But for all of his grins and jokes and being teasingly sinister while being sweet, the truth is this: they're not entirely wrong.

It's not that he's sold his soul, exactly, or that what he has done is a substitute for skill and talent. The trade wasn't so clean, on either side. Viktor's soul was his own and he would have been an international skater on his own merits and skill and training. The dark magics, the pacts, the lines painted over his skin before competitions, the blood on his knife, the contract, made before he really understood what it meant, what he was gaining and what price he would pay for it, was all just to give him the _edge_ , the little extra bit of something to enchant the judges with what they already could see to be true. It didn't keep him from having to practice hard, to learn his jumps. But when it came down to those last few points in his PCS, the little things where a judge got a bit subjective—were there just enough rotations? Was his arm raised high enough? Was he right perfectly with the music? It made them more likely to say yes, yes he was _perfect_ , he was everything they wanted. Everything the judges could want. Everything a sponsor could want. Everything the announcers could want. Loved everywhere, by everyone, the little imperfections smoothed out in people's heads, unnoticed.

For Viktor, it had always just been a way of life. He'd had his coaches walk him through it when he was younger, then as he got older the older skaters would help, until he could perform the needed rituals on his own. And he knew, even from an early age, what price would be exacted of him, in the end. At midnight on the solstice after he retired or could no longer skate, the demon would come and collect the thing that was the most important to him in the world, whatever it was that was his heart's desire.

But skating _was_ Viktor's heart's desire. There was nothing else in the world he wanted as badly and, when he grew older and longed for companionship and connection, it was simple to have distant friends, passing acquaintances in bed, the alchemy of Christophe that allowed for both without either of them falling in love. Viktor stopped being worried about it. He was fairly sure it was going to be Makkachin at this point and pampered the dog like crazy, made sure she had the best possible life she could have. Maybe, once all this was over, maybe he could find someone to love and to love him in return, but not before. Viktor was driven to a point where he could be cold, focused to a point where he could be cruel, but he wasn't _evil_. He knew how to be what people wanted him to be, anything they wanted him to be, but he didn't wish harm on them, even as he left a trail of broken hearts and confused friends in his wake. It was for their sake he didn't get attached, after all. He was happy. He was going to make it to retirement next year and he was going to miss his dog the rest of his life, but he wasn't going to _hurt_ anyone.

And then, suddenly there was Yuuri—the one person in his life he could never, _ever_ anticipate, drunk off four bottles of champagne and defeat and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. 

Even so, it isn't until he's watching Yuuri skate in the Grand Prix Finals (Viktor's routine, Viktor's costume, in front of the world) that he _knows_ , feels it hollow in the base of his chest, that Makkachin isn't what the demon will take anymore. So he _has_ to come back to the ice. He has to give it a chance to fail, a chance to fade, a chance to not work out. He has to give _Yuuri_ a chance. He should break his heart, he should cut him loose and be alone the moment he knows, but he discovers a weird truth—after how good he's gotten at being alone, he's actually really bad at leaving people. On the heels of that, he makes another strange discovery, because as soon as he knows for sure he tries to tell Yuuri what's happening—about his pact and about why that pact puts Yuuri in danger.

It's not that he doesn't want to. He wants to explain to Yuuri what's happening, why it's imperative that he run far, far away from Viktor, to save himself, to _try_. But he literally can't. The words tangle on his tongue or he says something else instead and he eventually figures out that it's not him that's doing it, it's something about the pact itself. And he's not even really sure if that would help. Yuuri is still the dearest thing in the world to _him_ \-- even if he pushes him away, it wouldn't change how he feels. But to not be able to tell him is torture. The only thing he can do is to keep skating, to give fate a chance to intervene before the inevitable happens.

He manages a whole extra season— a triumphant return mid-season after the Grand Prix Final and then all of the next season as well, with reporters all over the world marveling at how long he's managed to skate, how rare a 29 year old skater is and one still so on top of his game. There's speculation that he might win next year's Russian Nationals having just turned _30_ , something completely unheard of. And then he comes down on his second to last jump at Worlds.

He nails the landing, moves into the next element with grace, without a flinch, but he _knows_ , feels the way the impact shakes him up his leg and down to the core, feels how badly it hurts down to his soul. He could stop this now. He could not do the final quad flip and he might, might be able to stay off the ice for the summer and turn in some lackluster performances next year… but he can't. Maybe that's the ultimate of selfishness, but he can't throw the last real performance of his career, not even for a few more short months with Yuuri. If he could have _saved_ him, it would be different, but he _loves_ him and another seasons isn't going to change that. He would just be prolonging the inevitable. 

He does the quadruple flip. He feels the tendons in his foot give. He skates through it , through it, always through it, bows, skates to the edge. He doesn't limp, doesn't baby it, makes it worse, worse, worse. He'll never recover. He'll never skate like this again. He doesn't want to. He doesn't _care_. What is the point in avoiding pain, now? He sets another world record, wins another gold medal, talks to the reporters and smiles and smiles and smiles.

It finds him that night, as he knows it will.

He's getting dressed, careful and silent, when it arrives. He'd planned on going down to the sea to talk to it, to not disturb Yuuri sleeping off his own silver medal victory, even though he knows he should rest, that his foot will sear every step of the way. He's thinking of mermaids and sea foam and wondering if he walked into the water, would it spare Yuuri. He doesn't think so. And he is still hoping to bargain, somehow, even though he knows it will not work. Imagine, the great Viktor Nikiforov, knowing that he's going to fail at something, at the most important thing, the only thing that _matters_. It is irony of the greatest sort, precisely the kind of thing that the demon is sure to enjoy. 

Said irony is not lost on the demon either.

"Don't worry, I've made sure he's asleep and won't wake while we talk," it says by way of a hello, and then, "You haven't told him about the injury yet, have you." It's not really a question but Viktor shakes his head. When it's obvious that the demon intends to talk here, he sits, doesn't try to hide the sigh of relief when he takes the weight off his injured foot. There's no reason to pretend to the demon, after all. The injury is why it's here.

"No. I don't want to taint this for him. He worked hard for his own medal. I don't want him to see it associated with my downfall. Besides, if I'm careful with it after this, I could still skate." 

"But not compete," the demon has at least some kind of kindness in it, because it's not gloating, just the truth, 

"No. Not compete," Viktor agrees, resigned, calm, at least for now, "I could maybe put it off another year, skate at least through the end of the next Grand Prix, but then I really might never skate again and there's no guarantee I'd make it to the end without it giving out, anyway. And I… I want to go out on top—a new world record and a season I'm proud of, not gracefully sliding off the pedestal lower and lower until they say I should have retired years ago."

"Selfish until the end, Viktor," the demon purrs, disturbingly fond, "I would have thought you would want to stay longer with your heart's desire." For the first time tonight, Viktor flinches. He looks over at Yuuri, asleep on the bed, and he wants to argue with the demon, to tell him that he would crush his own legacy under his heel in a heartbeat if it would actually _save_ Yuuri instead of just prolonging the inevitable. But the demon isn't entirely incorrect, either. Viktor's pride isn't _absent_ in this decision, even if it's not what's driving it. He stays silent.

"What's his name?" the demon asks and Viktor knows that the time he's going to be begging the creature not to take Yuuri is closing in, so he has to be at least passingly polite to it, to try to get what he wants, but the covetous way it talks about Yuuri makes his blood boil. 

"Yuuri."

"Yuuri…" the demon purrs out the name, possessive, hungry, and Viktor clenches his hands into fists. It sniffs at Yuuri, not quite touching (Yuuri is not his, not yet) and then blinks, surprised and pleased, "He's a _virgin_?"

"Yes."

"Your heart's desire, and you haven't even _slept_ with him?"

"He's… shy," Viktor can feel the blush on his face. Shy. Slow. _Worth waiting for_. He knows he's probably giving too much of his heart away with his expression, the way his pale skin shows every tender emotion across it, but the demon has to know the worst of it anyway just with knowing this man is the thing he loves the most in the world. It throws back its head and laughs, 

"He's shy. Well, I shouldn't tease you, it's going to make him all the sweeter to me," now it's grinning widely, showing all of it's teeth, and Viktor knows what's coming, braces himself, "Is this the part where you bargain with me, Vitya?" it sounds excited, anticipatory, like it's having _fun_ and Viktor feels his stomach turn.

"Yes," much like everything else in this conversation, there's little point in denying it. "Of course it is. I love him more than anything else in the world, would give _anything_ to protect him. That's really what you feel on, isn't it? I gave away the most important thing to me before I even knew what it was. And all I get are a few short months and then I have to live with this the rest of my life. I have to know what I did."

"Yes," this time it's the demon's answer that's simple.

"Take me instead," he offers, even though he knows the demon will refuse. It's too _easy_ , lets Viktor off the hook for too little, but he leans back against the sofa anyway, makes his posture more appealing, inviting. It's what he would have done in years past for a lover standing there, knows that it makes him look more desirable, more open. He doubts it will work that way for the demon but it should at least let him know how serious he's being, how deliberately he is offering himself, "I'd trade myself wholly and gladly. Why wait for the Solstice? You can have me right now, if you want me." The demon blinks slowly and seems, for reasons Viktor does not understand, to be slightly taken aback,

"You… really mean it. You really would give yourself up right now. I have had many men beg for me to not take their lovers but it's always been spectacle. In their hearts they have been glad it wasn't going to be them. But you…" it tilts its head to the side, considering, "I take it back, you're not selfish at all. What happened to my uncaring little Vitya?"

"I always cared," it's nearly deadpan, the same way he's talked to the demon for years, "It's just that no one ever cared to see it before." The demon studies him for a long moment, black eyes glittering in the night, considering. Viktor is not expecting a real answer. That he gets one surprises him. 

"I do not normally bother to explain this, Vitya. But for you I will make an exception," it's expression shifts sly, this information is not a gift, "I want you to fully understand what it is that you are offering me. The pleasure of taking someone's heart's desire is one of consumption. If I take Yuuri, I will devour him utterly, every piece and part of him you love but, ultimately, the suffering is _yours_ to bear, not his. For him, it will be a nightmare, but it will be a nightmare with an end. If I take you…" it shows it's teeth, "then you are paying your own price. I will take great pleasure in torturing you for longer than your mind can fully comprehend. Your entire existence will be torment for hundreds of years, until I finally grow tired of you. I will make sure you watch as you all but fade from history, until you see how pathetic your original desires were. Your death, in the end, will be something you beg for, Vitya," it purrs his name, strokes fingers down his cheek and he holds still for it, feeling the claws drag close to splitting the skin, "It will be a reward for good behavior, something that will only come when I have tired of you utterly and you have no further use to me."

"I'm yours, then," Viktor answers without hesitation, "If you spare Yuuri, I'll do it. Gladly." The demon thinks to scare him and he _is_ scared, but mostly Viktor is thinking that it cannot be that _easy_. It will not be. But he means it anyway when he offers. He expects the demon to laugh at him, to think that he is all naiveté and bravado. 

The demon does not laugh.

The demon _considers_ , and it's the single most terrifying moment of Viktor's life. It holds Yuuri and Viktor's lives in it's hands, looking back and forth between the two— Yuuri lying sweet and innocent, asleep on the bed, Viktor tense and grim and in pain on the sofa. 

"You are asking me to give up _quite_ the prize in return for you, Vitya.," the demon finally says, still looking at Yuuri, "He's so beautiful. Innocent. He's burning up with so many of his own desires. I could make him give in to all of them, drink his shame and his tears for a long time before I grew tired of it, defile him a hundred different ways as I devoured him," it sounds _wistful_ , like it's already dreaming of it a little. Viktor clenches his jaw so hard it hurts more than his foot does. He's staring intensely at the demon, doesn't dare look at Yuuri while it's looking at him, and so he sees the shift in it's face, sees when it decides what it's _real_ price is going to be, even before it grins, turning back to him, "… You know… he wouldn't be nearly so much fun for me, if he were less so."

"… what? Less… what?" Viktor doesn't understand. Its grin grows wider, it has too many teeth for its mouth, all of them are pointed. 

" _Innocent_ ," it breathes, like it's tasting the word, "He's no good to me spoiled and broken even if he is your heart's desire. So break him. Destroy his innocence and his purity. Be _selfish_ , Vitya. Take everything I might want from him for yourself. Getting to taste a pure, innocent heart isn't something I am willing to give up, but I can find _whores_ anywhere. Turn him into something less desirable to me and I will take you instead. All you have to do is make sure you're more interesting than he is." Viktor can only stare for a moment, struck dumb with _horror_ at what the demon is suggesting. It lets the moment of triumph stretch in silence, watches Viktor struggle with words, lets the full meaning of what it's asking sink in.

"I… wouldn't be able to even _tell_ him," Viktor fumbles out of his mouth, "He wouldn't know why I was—"

"Of course not. Well, you would have the day of the solstice to tell him," Viktor tries very hard not to look surprised. He isn't sure if that's a slip of the tongue or a gift, to be given that knowledge, "Not that he will forgive you either way, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't expect him to," Viktor's tone is grim, resigned. The demon brushes some hair out of Viktor's face, its touch a parody of tenderness, 

"I like you, Vitya. I have always liked you. You were always so cold. Driven. I always thought that you would have made an excellent demon." It is a compliment. Viktor manages a tight smile for it, even as he hates that the demon is right. "Maybe I am a little sentimental," it isn't, but it is also being _kind_ for a demon, so Viktor doesn't scoff at that, lets it keep stroking fingers through his hair, intimate, like it's comforting him, "I will give you a present, to make it easier for you to corrupt your little angel." It waves its hand and there's a box sitting on Viktor's lap. It is small and black and it's a little disgustingly warm even through his pants, like it's _alive_. Viktor doesn't want to touch it.

"Inside, there's a necklace. It makes the wearer more… open to suggestion, _compliant_ ," it purrs the last, an insinuating grin on it's face, "It clouds the mind of the wearer enough that they won't notice on their own, they'll just fall in line with your desires without ever knowing they never had a choice. But of course, if you wanted to you could always tell Yuuri how it worked—once he knows he doesn't want any of the things you're telling him to want, I'm sure it will speed up the process of breaking him." Viktor looks down at the box. He understands what the demon wants him to do. The sex is part of it, yes, but it's the vehicle more than the destination. It wants him to make Yuuri ashamed of the things he wants but unable to resist them. It wants him to get Yuuri to give into _depravity_ , to things that he would never want while he was sane, but to pull him out somewhere beyond sanity. And he needs to know it's _Viktor_ doing it to him. That Viktor is the one doing something to him that he doesn't want but can't resist. Viktor also understands that that is still a better fate than what the demon will do to him, by a margin so wide he can't even comprehend it. It doesn't help.

If he could just _ask_ Yuuri about it, it wouldn't be so bad. If he could just apologize and explain, give Yuuri the choice of what he wanted. He could still use the necklace after that, still take him apart, but Yuuri would _understand_ , even if he told him to forget all about it. He could do it frighteningly easily, if it were Yuuri's choice. Viktor knows how to _win_ , cold and effective. But he can't tell him, can't ask. He has to choose _for_ Yuuri and by the time he'll be able to explain, it will be too late to pick another road.

"Thank you," he says, mechanically, and even though this is terrible, he means it. He recognizes this entire set up as a strange kind of mercy on the part of the demon, or at least an invitation to play a game rather than just accept his fate and Yuuri's. The demon tips his face up like he's going to kiss him, and Viktor holds still for that touch as well, lets it do as it pleases, though it never quite brushes its mouth to his skin,

"As always with you, Vitya, it is my _pleasure_." And then it is just Viktor and Yuuri and the box.

And the choice.

He stares at Yuuri in the bed, chest still rising and falling peacefully. He knows he should put the necklace on him _now_ , before he wakes. That he should start tomorrow. That it will only be harder if he allows them to go back to Hasetsu in the morning. He should "convince" him to go on a post-season trip with him. He should take him to a country where he doesn't speak the language or to a remote part of Russia where no one knows them. He should isolate him from his friends, family, make it so he has to rely on _Viktor_ … His stomach turns with how easily the plan forms. The demon was right. He would have been an excellent demon.

But, in the end, he stands with a wince and hides the necklace in his luggage, instead. He _should_ do it now. But he can't, not yet. He needs the sea and the cry of the gulls and to think about this. He needs to be alone. The walk to the pier will hurt every step of the way (knives piercing through his foot), but it's nothing compared to what's going on in his head.

Yuuri waits until the door closes, counts to ten, and then lifts his head up off the pillow. There's suddenly so much he doesn't know. He doesn't know how this contract that Viktor made works. He doesn't know (though he can guess) why Viktor would have made a deal with a demon in the first place. He doesn't know why the demon had said he was asleep or, more likely, why whatever the demon did to put him to sleep didn't work. Maybe him knowing is somehow part of its plan, but considering how smug it sounded about Viktor not being able to tell him until it was too late, he doesn't think so. He doesn't know if Viktor intends to put the necklace on him or not and he doesn’t know how long it will be before he makes that decision. 

Here is what he does know.

He knows that whatever decision Viktor makes, he is going to make it thinking he is fighting for the best thing for Yuuri. He knows beyond the shadow of any doubt that he is the one thing Viktor loves the most in the world and even though he's scared, that sets his heart on fire. He knows that this was not something Viktor intended to happen and he knows Viktor would trade places with him in a moment. 

He is loved.

He is loved and he realizes suddenly that he too has been keeping secrets. The secret he's been keeping is woven so firmly into the rest of his life, birth to death, first breath to last, that he didn't even _remember_ he was keeping it, most of the time. In the dark in a strange country, close enough to hear the waves on the shore through the window, he remembers.

And, listening to the sea, he knows exactly what he's going to have to do.


End file.
